


make the yuletide gay

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Riverparents, happiest season au (loosely based), parentdale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: “You’re proposing to your boyfriend… who you’ve been dating for almost 3 years… and you haven’t met his parents?”FP stands up a little straighter, suddenly not feeling so relaxed. “Okay, well when you say it like that…”
Relationships: FP Jones II & Gladys Jones, Fred Andrews/FP Jones II
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15
Collections: Home for the HoliDale





	1. November 28, 2003

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas! yes this title was absolutely necessary because it makes me laugh. also no i havent seen happiest season so this fic is gonna like take the general premise but im absolutely doing my own shit with it. have fun. enjoy. be merry. if you dont celebrate christmas... happy monday.

The day after Thanksgiving finds FP warm in his bed, hiding under a thick duvet from the brisk autumn chill that permeates outside. The beeping of his alarm stirs him awake. He groans, burying his face further into his boyfriend’s neck as his arm pulls tighter against his waist. Silently, FP curses himself for making plans today, especially so early. He’s still hungover from all the turkey and pie he had at his mom’s, along with the leftovers Fred had brought from his own family.

Two and a half years into their relationship they have yet to spend a Thanksgiving or Christmas together. FP always goes to visit his mother, because for years it had just been the two of them. And Fred can’t bear the thought of not spending the holidays with his own small, close-knit family. So this arrangement just fell into place naturally. 

They still found ways to celebrate together, of course. Christmas for them moved to the 23rd so Fred could go spend Christmas Eve and day with his family. Thanksgiving was celebrated late at night over a round of leftovers they’d each brought back, legs tangled together on the couch as they watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. Their own little tradition having been created.

The day after Thanksgiving, as a result, was usually reserved for sleeping in as late as possible, battling the food coma they were left in. But not this year. This year FP had very important business to tend to. 

Fred stirs a little as FP twists around to shut off his alarm, mumbles a _”Time is it?”_ into his pillow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” FP whispers as he presses into Fred’s back to give him a little peck on the shoulder. He can hear Fred’s sigh of contentment before he drifts back off to sleep, and only then does FP sneak out of bed to head to the bathroom.

He’s showered and dressed by the time Fred wakes up, sleepily making his way into the kitchen where FP’s just finished scrambling eggs. 

“What’re doing up so early?” Fred asks on a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

FP plates the eggs and sets them down on the counter beside Fred with an accompanying fork. He hands a mug of coffee over, too, placing a kiss to Fred’s cheek in the process. “I’m going Christmas shopping with Gladys.”

Fred’s halfway to sipping his coffee when he’s lighting up at the news, caffeine no longer needed to wake him up. “Christmas shopping for me?”

FP can’t help but laugh. Fred’s holding his mug up between both hands, trying to warm himself up, no doubt, and the glee on his face can only be described as childlike. He’s _cute_ like this, all wrinkled pajamas and messy bedhead. FP doesn’t know how he got so goddamn lucky. 

“I do have other people to shop for, you know,” FP says, going for casual indifference. 

Fred scoffs at him. “No you don’t.”

Which… isn’t exactly true. But it’s not entirely false, either. FP’s never really kept a lot of people around him. Outside of Fred he really only has his mom and Gladys, his best friend since high school. There’s a couple of guys from work he hangs out with sometimes, but they’re definitely not close enough to be buying gifts for. And Fred knows that, but FP doesn’t need to confirm it. 

He wraps an arm around Fred’s waist and hauls him in. Fred yelps, rushing to set his coffee down before it splashes everywhere. “Excuse you, sleepyface” he says, face to face with Fred. “But I _do_ have to get my mother a gift.”

“Mhm,” Fred challenges, hands finding FP’s biceps. “Then why go with Gladys and not me?”

“Maybe I need a woman’s opinion. You think of that, smart guy?”

“I’ll show you ‘smart guy’.” Fred pinches FP’s side, causing him to jump and let out a very undignified but absolutely not girlish squeak. 

FP grabs hold of Fred’s waist, hauling him forward and keeping him close as he leans in for a kiss. Wrapping his arms around FP’s neck, Fred reaches up the little distance so they’re at equal height.

FP ends up pressed against the counter, eggs going cold and forgotten where he set them as Fred seems to be more interested in other things. Not that FP minds. There’s few better ways he can think to start his day than making out with his boyfriend in their kitchen.

“You know,” FP drawls, hand slowly reaching up behind him to grasp Fred’s wrist. “If you _really_ want a Christmas present, I think I’ve got an early one for you.” He brings Fred’s hand down between them, settling it atop the growing bulge in his jeans.

Fred lets out a laugh, eyes never straying from FP’s face like the gesture is a common occurrence. “You’re not as sexy as you think you are.”

FP raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see your hand moving.”

Quirking his brow up to mirror FP’s, Fred squeezes his hand a little harder than maybe necessary, smirking at the way FP’s body jolts back against the counter.

“Oh baby, you know I like it rough.” FP reaches to cup Fred’s jaw, shark-like grin on his face as he goes in for another kiss. 

Before things really have time to get heated their intercom buzzes. Fred moves to go answer it, only for FP to pull him back. “Let it go,” he says against Fred’s lips. “It’s just Gladys. She can find another way in.”

“F!” Fred laughs incredulously, pushing back against FP’s hold. “You can’t just leave her down there.”

“She’ll be fine.”

FP tries to resume the kissing, even despite the incessant buzzing from the intercom. But eventually Fred works his way free, to FP’s groans, and buzzes to let Gladys up.

FP’s shoveling lukewarm eggs into his mouth when Fred makes his way back over. 

“Hey, those are mine!” Fred scolds, slapping FP’s hand away and stealing his fork. 

FP puts his hands up in a show of surrender as he takes a step back. He doesn’t stray far, though. Stays within arm’s reach as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh. Now’s probably a good time to tell you I’m not doing Christmas with my mom this year.”

Fred looks up with a scrunched brow. “Why not?” he asks around a mouthful of egg.

“She’s going on a cruise.” FP pauses just for dramatic effect before dropping the actual bombshell. “With her girlfriend.”

It gets the expected reaction from Fred, who drops his fork, sending it clattering on his plate as he straightens up. “No kidding! I didn’t know your mom had a girlfriend.”

FP lifts a shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “I didn’t either. She just sprung it on me at dinner yesterday.” FP’s known ever since he was a kid about his mother’s sexuality. From the first time he mentioned to her offhandedly about finding some boy in his class cute, and she had reassured him there was nothing wrong with that, going so far as to reveal she, too, had a fondness for the same sex. 

In fact, she’d only ever been with women after leaving her ex-husband behind; deciding enough was enough when FP was thirteen and running off together in the middle of the night. 

His mother had always been a free spirit. Her marriage to FP’s father had dulled that shine a bit, but she always let it come through around her son. Always tried to show him the magic in the world in spite of whatever dark cloud his father cast over them. It wasn’t until they were free that FP got to see how truly wild and impulsive his mother was, in the best way. He’d never known someone with so much love to give and wanted to spread it to whomever she could. 

Not until Fred, anyway. The only person FP had ever met who could match his mother’s light. They got along like fireworks, had so much in common. It left FP dizzy the first time he’d introduced Fred to his mom. It was like they had been lifelong best friends. The way they had laughed and danced and taken to each other immediately. His mom had pulled him aside before they left, looked FP square in the eye and told him with no uncertainty that Fred was the one. He’d had no reason to disagree.

“So what’re gonna do for Christmas?” 

It’s cute, the way Fred looks all concerned. He doesn’t need to say it, FP already knows exactly what’s going on in his head. Fred _loves_ Christmas. Is one of those types who gets all excited about it, wants to look at all the lights and play in the snow and bake the cookies. Hell, he still gets excited when he sees a mall Santa. So the idea of FP possibly spending a Christmas alone is unfathomable. Because in Fred’s world, Christmas is all about being surrounded by family tucked away in your nice, warm, suburban winterscape. 

But that’s never been FP’s Christmas. He doesn’t have the same emotional attachment to the holiday that his boyfriend has. Not that his Christmases were _bad_. Even living with his father, his mom did her best to brighten up the day. But she was also one of those _Every day is Christmas_ people. Just like every day was Valentine’s Day or Halloween… She never needed a special occasion to celebrate. She just did whatever she wanted.

“I don’t know,” FP says. “Was just gonna hang back here, I guess. Maybe invite Gladys over. Order Chinese. Watch _Black Christmas_...” FP laughs at Fred’s screwed up face. He could never understand FP’s affinity for Christmas horror.

“That’s so morbid.” 

FP huffs out a laugh, shrugging. It sounds like a perfect night in, if he’s being honest. Would be better with Fred, but he’s not about to ask him to ditch his family just to keep him company. He’s not _that_ needy. 

Fred’s face brightens up all of a sudden, like it usually does when he’s got some hairbrain scheme. “I’ve got an idea.” FP knew it. “Why don’t you come spend Christmas with me?”

It comes totally out of left field. Whatever FP had been expecting to come out of Fred’s mouth certainly wasn’t _that_. He’s never even met Fred’s family before, and now Fred’s asking him to spend Christmas with them? Not that FP wants to pass up the opportunity, or to spend time with Fred, but meeting the folks is intimidating enough on its own. To add Christmas on top of it seems especially grueling. “Are you sure?”

There’s a flash of something in Fred’s eyes - doubt, FP thinks - but it’s gone before he can get a good enough read on it. 

“Of course I’m sure.” Fred steps forward into FP’s space, one arm settling around his boyfriend’s waist while the other rests on his shoulder, Fred tucking a loose strand of hair back into place on FP’s head. “It’s Christmas. Wouldn’t you rather spend it with me?”

“Well…” FP drawls, hands settling on Fred’s hips to draw him closer. “Can’t really argue with that now can I?” He smiles, leans in like he’s going for a kiss only to bump their noses instead. “You sure you parents won’t mind?” he asks, just to be on the safe side. 

That same look passes over Fred’s face again right before he leans in to press his lips to FP’s. “If they want me spending Christmas with them they won’t,” Fred says as he pulls back. “Maybe we can even make a whole week of it since I won’t have to worry about rushing home to you.” That gets a smile out of FP. “I can show you around my hometown. It’ll be great.”

The words sound a little off to FP’s ears, like Fred’s trying to convince himself more than FP, but he chalks it up as being the general nerves that come with introducing your partner to your family.

There’s a knocking at the door that interrupts the moment, signaling Gladys’ arrival. Giving him a quick peck on the lips before removing himself from Fred’s arms, FP goes over to let his best friend in.

“Can’t you find a building with an apartment on the first floor? Or a working elevator?” Gladys complains, shoving by FP without so much as a hello. “Stairs are a pain in my ass. Oh! Eggs!”

Fred steps out of her way, watching her with a fond smile on his face. “Good morning to you, too, Gladys.”

She sends him a closed-lipped smile back as she chews down on breakfast. 

“Okay, no. We don’t have time for this,” FP says as he puts on his jacket. He grabs Gladys by the arm to tug her away, ignoring her protests about wanting more eggs. “I’ll buy you lunch after. C’mon.”

He waves goodbye to Fred, telling him he’ll be home later while he pushes Gladys out the door.

\--

The streets are crowded with people trying to get their Black Friday deals. It’s a madhouse in the stores and outside of them. FP’s had to stop Gladys from having at least three fights with people bumping into her on the sidewalk.

“You couldn’t have done this tomorrow?” she asks, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to keep her from strangling someone. 

“Hey, I didn’t pick the day. They did,” answers FP as they round the corner to the street where the jeweler’s at. 

“Gotta say, Jones, never thought I’d see the day you were ready to pop the big question.”

It’s a fair enough statement. Gladys and FP had grown up together. She was one of the few people on the planet who knew him inside and out, and that meant she knew all too well how against marriage he had been his whole life. How he believed it never amounted to anything good. He’d had a chip on his shoulder from seeing his own parents’ relationship play out. Hell, most of the parents from his and Gladys’ neck of the woods fell down the same path, only solidifying his already strong beliefs.

It also hadn’t helped when he learned marriage wasn’t even on the table for him, not if he fell for a boy. Which he thought was stupid. He liked boys. He liked girls. Why was one so different from the other? Not that it really mattered. FP had never let himself get close enough to someone to even entertain thoughts of _romance_ or _marriage_. 

Then Fred came long and sufficiently shook up FP’s entire world. 

It was like the embodiment of the American Dream walked right into his life. FP had never seen anything like him, all wholesome-blue-collar-apple-pie-Americana. 

_They’d met when FP was looking to open up his bar - a decision that had confounded those closest to him. It was a reopen, really. He’d become friends with the previous owner who had taken over a fatherly-type role over the many years FP had frequented the place, always looking for a party to silence his own head. That bar ended up turning into a second home. He’d found solace even when he wasn’t drinking, found himself coming in during the day just to hang out with Thomas, help him clean, take inventory, looking for someone to lend an ear…_

_It was Thomas who ended up paying FP’s way through rehab, which was why it came as such a shock that it was FP he decided to hand the place over to when he decided it was time to retire and head down to the Keys._

_The last thing FP had wanted to do was let Thomas down, not after everything the man had done for him. So he had accepted and put himself to work right away. He hadn’t wanted to do a complete overhaul, but admittedly the building had needed a little sprucing up. A little renovation here and there without losing its dive bar charm._

_That’s where Fred came in._

_FP had been so distracted their first meeting. Fred had been busy drawing up plans he had for the place, animatedly going on about what layout he thought would work best to maximize floor space, the right lighting to set the mood FP was going for, the best shelving to display the liquor selection… FP doesn’t really remember the details. All he remembers is staring at Fred’s profile, sitting knee to knee at the bar, not being able to take his eyes off him even to look down at whatever plans he was drawing up. The bar he was designing could’ve been a shitshow. FP would’ve gone along with it just to spend more time with him._

_It was about a week later that FP worked up the nerve to ask him out. Took even less time for him to realize he was in love. A little longer to actually admit it._

_Fred never hid the fact all he wanted to be was a father. Get married, live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, the whole white-picket-suburban deal. It had scared the shit out of FP at first. He had never really put much thought into what his future looked like, what his end goal was. But he_ definitely _never saw himself as a family man._

_It was different, though, with Fred. Hell, FP’s entire life had done a 180. He was sober. He was a business owner, which was keeping him sober because he actually had shit like_ responsibilities _now. And when he and Fred moved in together FP found that maybe this life wasn’t so bad after all. It was nice having someone to come home to, to wake up next to, to hold him in the middle of the night when he was too shaken from nightmares of his past to go back to sleep._

_He liked having_ Fred _be that person. And FP Jones had never been more sure of anything than he was of the fact that he wanted to spend all his moments, good or bad, with Fred Andrews for the rest of his life._

FP shrugs, digging his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. It still makes him nervous to be open about his feelings, though it’s something he’s been working on. Is going to _have_ to work on if he wants to fucking _propose_. At least he’s not the total lost cause he used to be. “He’s my person. Kinda changes things.” 

He can’t look at Gladys when he says it, for no other reason than he can already _feel_ the teasing smile that’s on her face, which is only confirmed when suddenly her cold fingers are reaching out to pinch his cheeks. “Aww, look who’s all grown up!” she says in that voice everyone reserves for babies and small animals, tugging on FP’s cheek until he bats her hand away. She laughs. 

“So what’s the plan? Vermont? Canada? You two aren’t moving, are you?” 

FP detects just the slightest hint of worry in Gladys’ question, which is enough for him to tease her over. “Aw, are you gonna miss me?” He mocks her previous tone, reaching over to grab her cheek just like she did him.

“Gross. _No_ ,” she says, slapping his hand away. “Fred I’ll miss. He’s good people. You? Eh.”

FP rolls his eyes. “I gotta find a new best man.” It was maybe a little early to be planning the wedding party. Fred hadn’t even agreed to marry him yet. But when FP had told Gladys he was going to propose she’d basically called dibs anyway.

“Who else would it be, dummy?” Gladys playfully knocks her shoulder into FP’s. “You don’t have any other friends.”

Clearly he needs to get some.

“ _Anyway_ ,” FP says as they reach the jeweler, opening the door and stepping aside so Gladys can go through. “We’re not moving. Fred would never live that far away from his family.”

The store’s packed. People crowded in to pick up purchases - like FP - others crowding around the displays to make one. FP alerts one of the clerks he’s there to pick up an engagement ring, hangs back when she gives him a number and tells him it’ll be about 15 minutes.

Gladys is leaning on one of the glass counters, eyeing up a display of diamond rings. “How much you think I could get for all this?” She doesn’t even bother looking up at FP, just keeps her nose down and taps on the glass like she’s doing the math in her head.

“I think if you want to pull a heist you should wait until after the ceremony so I don’t have to scramble to find a new best man.”

“Pff. Like I’d get caught.” She looks up then, smirk on her face. “Besides. Could help pay for it. Maybe even get you a honeymoon in Bermuda or something.”

FP considers it for a second. He knows _he_ sure as shit can’t afford a honeymoon in Bermuda. “That sounds kind of nice, actually…”

Gladys waggles her eyebrows at him, smile widening like _Yeah, I know it does._ She’d do it, too, is the thing. Which is why FP has to shake himself out of that little fantasy and tell her _No._

“Fine,” Gladys sighs, all put-upon as she turns around, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the counter. “Suit yourself, have a podunk honeymoon. Can’t say I didn’t try to do something nice.”

FP just rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. He shifts to lean his forearm on the glass beside Gladys, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. “Oh. So get this,” he starts. “Fred invited me to his parents’ for Christmas. I finally get to meet them- what?” When he looks over, Gladys has a look on her face like he just told her he was meeting aliens or something equally ridiculous. 

“You’re proposing to your boyfriend… who you’ve been dating for almost 3 years… and you haven’t met his parents?”

FP stands up a little straighter, suddenly not feeling so relaxed. “Okay, well when you say it like that…”

Gladys lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “Do his parents even know he has a boyfriend?”

“Of course they do!” FP says it confidently enough, but truth be told he actually has no way to back it up. He thinks on it, and really there’s no way he could know for sure. He’d known early in the relationship that Fred wasn’t out to his parents yet, which was fine. FP knew better than anyone how tricky those waters were. But about six months in Fred had told him he was gonna do it, he was gonna tell them. And FP had no reason not to believe him, especially when afterwards he asked Fred how it went and Fred told him it went great. He just kind of assumed that meant Fred told them about FP, too…

“I’m just saying. It’s a little suspicious you haven’t met them yet. Especially when he’s already met your mom.”

“It’s just never been the right time…” FP had always had work or there would be some other scheduling conflict when it came time for Fred and his family to get together. It never really seemed like an issue before. It’s probably not even an issue now. Gladys is just messing with him like she always does. 

Gladys opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off when one of the store clerks calls FP’s number. His legs feel a little like jelly as he makes his way across the shop, having to push through bodies of other customers to get to the counter. 

The ring’s out on display for him to examine. It’s a simple gold band twisted in the middle to resemble the symbol for infinity. FP knew the second he laid eyes on it that it was the one. Because, turns out, FP’s kind of sap - a fact he did not learn about himself until he met Fred. And what better way to show Fred he’s FP’s forever than with _this_ ring?

Seeing that shiny gold ring perched in its box suddenly makes everything feel real. It should probably make him more nervous, especially paired with Gladys’ negative musings, but as he picks up the ring to look at is closer all he can see is it sitting on Fred’s finger for the rest of their lives. That thought alone comforts him. Because if there’s one thing in this life he’s sure about, it that they belong together. And there’s nothing that can change that.

He feels Gladys when she steps up beside him to get a look. She whistles long and low, pats his back in approval. “That sure is a mighty fine ring you picked out, Jones.”

FP can’t help but smile. “You think he’ll like it?”

“Oh, definitely,” she says. Pauses. “Just hope it actually makes it on his finger…”

FP places the ring back in the box and snaps it shut, sliding it over the counter with a little too much attitude so the clerk can bag it up for him. He knows Gladys is just teasing him, purposefully trying to get this reaction from him, but he can’t help it. “Do you want me to buy you lunch or not?” he asks as he turns to face her.

She holds her hands up in surrender and takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” But her face says anything but. “I’m done. Promise.” She makes a little cross over her heart to seal her point.

FP finishes up with the clerk and stuffs the small bag in the inside pocket of his jacket. “You’re annoying, you know that?” He places his hand on Gladys shoulder to steer her out of the store. 

Christmas with Fred’s family is going to go perfect. Because it has to be. Because FP has imagined this proposal playing out a million ways, and all of them ended in happily ever after. The union may not mean anything in the eyes of the law, but he figures the universe at least owes him this much. The chance to spend the rest of his life with the _love_ of his life. 

So everything will be fine. No matter what Gladys says.


	2. December 20, 2003 - Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you see the updated tags and that i added artie, hes here technically but dont get too excited. you will meet him properly next chapter

The ring’s stuffed securely tucked away in his duffel bag in the bed of the truck. That’s all FP can think about on the drive to Fred’s parents’. He’d had Gladys keep it for him so as to ensure Fred wouldn’t stumble upon it. 

FP had been a nervous wreck for a month, constantly sneaking phone calls and trips to her place to make sure the ring was still there and in good condition, that she hadn’t pawned it off (a joke he had made _one_ time that she had not taken kindly to. He’d had a bruise on his arm for a week to prove it.) Gladys had called him paranoid. He’s a little paranoid now, wondering if maybe he forgot to pack it, or what if it fell out somewhere along the way. 

The original plan had been to propose to Fred before Christmas Eve, when they usually exchanged gifts. He’d had it all figured out, was gonna sit Fred down right in front of the lit up tree, get down on one knee, give a whole romantic speech before popping the question. Fred would probably cry. FP would _definitely_ cry. Fred would throw his arms around FP, kiss him so hard they fell back onto the floor. Would probably stay there for a few hours… It would’ve been perfect. 

Plans had to change, though. Now that FP was faced with actually meeting Fred’s family it suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world to have their approval before inserting himself into their little unit. If they don’t like him he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Or what Fred will do. He likes to believe that Fred would stick by him anyway, but he also knows Fred’s family is the most important thing to him, so he couldn’t really blame him for standing by them instead. It’d be a complete and utter blow to FP but… it’s not like he really has a say in it. 

He just has to survive the week. Get along with the Andrews, make a good impression, gain their acceptance, and Christmas day he’ll do it. He’ll ask Fred to marry him.

“You’re gonna chew your hand off if you keep going at it like that,” Fred says, voice cutting through FP’s thoughts from the driver’s side as he reaches over to take FP’s hand in his, pulling it away from his mouth. 

It’s an old nervous habit, chewing on his fingers. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it. 

“Sorry,” FP mumbles, shifting a little in his seat. “Guess I picked a bad month to quit smoking.”

Fred gives his hand a squeeze. “You nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?” FP jokes. 

Taking his eyes off the road for a second, Fred sends a sympathetic smile FP’s way, their hands still linked and resting on FP’s lap. 

There’s a part of FP that wishes it could just stay the two of them, driving in Fred’s truck down deserted backroads covered in fresh blankets of snow. It sounds selfish, even to himself. It’s not a desire borne of greed - he’s not looking to keep Fred for himself. It’s just. FP’s not good with other people. They kind of set him on edge. Especially when there’s real stakes at hand. 

Fred’s thumb rubs reassuringly across his knuckles, and it actually does do something to settle the butterflies in FP’s stomach. He takes a few breaths, resting his head back against the seat and lets the warmth of the heater calm him down further. 

He’s just closed his eyes when Fred clears his throat. 

“I’ve, um. I’ve told you about my dad, right?” 

FP pops one eye open, lolling his head to the side to look at his boyfriend. Fred sounds a little nervous himself, but FP doesn’t think twice about it. Figures Fred’s having the same thoughts, or something similar, to him. “That he’s a pastor? Yeah.”

“Yeah. About that…”

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Keep the dirty jokes down to a minimum,” FP teases.

It gets a laugh out of Fred, but not the hearty, full-body one FP’s used to. It’s short. Tense, despite the way Fred’s smile appears genuine. “That’s not what I was gonna say, but yeah. Maybe let’s not drop any f-bombs this week?”

Eyes on Fred, FP brings their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss on the back of Fred’s. “I’ll do my best, dear.” It’s a little sarcastic, just for the sake of busting Fred’s chops, but he means it. He’ll be a goddamn choir boy this week. Doesn’t want to take any chances. 

Fred turns his head to roll his eyes fondly at his boyfriend, but as FP gets a good look at him he sees something else there that worries him. He gives Fred’s hand a little tug to get his attention when he turns back to the road, asks “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Fred’s hand goes a little tighter around FP’s. “Just. Promise you won’t get mad?”

It’s such a weird thing to say. FP can _maybe_ count on one hand the number of times he’s ever gotten mad at Fred. Can’t even remember a time they fought over anything actually serious. 

He shifts in his seat, body facing Fred now because it feels like it’s about to be something serious, whatever he has to say. The whole mood in the car has already shifted. “Fred, what’re you-”

“ _Myparentsdon’tknowI’mgay._ ” 

It comes out in a rush. The words take a moment to register in FP’s brain. The full context of what Fred’s just said. 

_Fred’s parents. Spending a week with them. They don’t_ know.

Thoughts arrange themselves like puzzle pieces in FP’s mind before it all clicks together. He lets go of Fred’s hand. Blinks a couple of times as he processes what Fred just told him, wants to make sure he heard him right. He turns forward in his seat and there’s this sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s gonna be sick. 

“Stop the car.” He doesn’t even know if he gets the words out they sound so quiet to his ears.

“What?”

“Stop the car, Fred.” Louder this time, though his voice shakes. 

“What? No, F.” The car swerves a little as Fred turns to face FP. His tone a little manic to match his jerky movement. “We should talk about-”

“Stop the fucking car before I throw myself out of it!”

FP’s yelling now, and it’s not just his voice that’s shaking. He feels it everywhere, his whole body vibrating like his bones are about to jump out of skin if he doesn’t fucking _move_. 

Fred slams the breaks, and FP’s out before the car even makes a full stop. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. His body’s on autopilot moving him forward, his boots crunching in the snow beneath them. His hands are freezing, gloves left behind in the car, but he barely even registers it as they comb through his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. 

“I can’t believe she was right,” FP scoffs. “I can’t believe she was _fucking right!_ ” He hates admitting when Gladys is right. Which has been happening for as long as he’s known her, but still. Doesn’t make it any less annoying. But what pisses him off even more about this is the fact that he was _supposed_ to know better this time. Fred was _his_ goddamn boyfriend!

“Who was right?” Fred asks from somewhere behind. FP hadn’t even heard him come out of the car. “Can you just come back in the car so we can talk about this? It’s freezing out here, babe-”

“Do _not_ ‘babe’ me right now!” FP swings around, pointing an accusatory finger at Fred, who halts in his tracks. At least he has the decency to look guilty, as he _should_. “Who does your family think I am to you?”

Fred shrinks into himself a little, like he’s afraid to answer. “My… roommate…”

“ _Roommate?_ ” It’s a punch to the gut. Knocks the wind right out of him. He supposes maybe it could be worse, though he’s having a hard time coming up with any such scenarios. Fucking _roommate_. Yeah, he thinks bitterly, he guesses they are. If you consider making out in the kitchen and cuddling on the couch and sleeping in the same bed after _fucking each other_ being roommates then sure. He and Fred are roommates of the goddamn year.

FP paces around in the snow for a while, trying to gather his thoughts. He’s stalling, really. Biding time enough to calm down just a fraction lest he give in to his full anger and say something he’ll regret. There’s venom on the tip of his tongue. It would be so easy… 

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, lets it out through his mouth. Does it a couple more times before he’s sure he’s rational enough to face Fred without chewing his head off. 

“Why? Why did you lie to me about telling your parents? And why the _fuck_ did you wait until _now_ to drop that bomb?” There’s still an edge of anger in his voice as he speaks, but he’s doing a damn good job at keeping his volume level, if he does say so himself.

Fred doesn’t move from his spot, feet firmly planted in the snow even though FP can read on his face how he wishes he didn’t have to. FP doesn’t know what he looks like, but he guesses it must be enough to tell Fred to keep his distance.

“I should have told you,” Fred admits. “And I’m sorry. But I just- I tried telling them. I did. But you don’t know my dad-”

FP has to scoff at that. “You don’t think _I_ would have understood that?” His eyes feel like they’re about to bulge out of head. 

Fred gives him a sheepish look in return. 

A tense moment passes between them before FP runs his hands over his face, letting out another deep sigh and letting his shoulders slump. “I don’t care if you’re out to your parents, Fred. I don’t. Just don’t fucking _lie_ to me about it and invite me to their fucking house.”

“I didn’t want you being alone on Christmas…” Fred says as he wraps his arms around his middle. He suddenly looks, and sounds, so small, and it’s taking everything FP has to keep his resolve. “And. I guess I just thought that if I had you with me it’d give me the boost I needed to tell them.”

“That’s a shitty thing to put on me, Fred.”

“I know.” Fred nods. “I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning. I just. Didn’t want you to be disappointed in me that I couldn’t tell them, I guess. I screwed up.” 

Fred’s got tears welling up in his eyes, and FP can feel it. The wall crumbling down. It must be written on his face, too, because Fred’s no longer glued to his spot. He takes a tentative step forward. Takes another one when FP doesn’t back away or tell him to stop. Keeps making them until they’re standing toe to toe.

“I’m sorry,” Fred says again. Cold hands find the back of FP’s neck, but he doesn’t mind. Not when Fred’s holding him close, resting their foreheads together. “I’m gonna make this right. I promise.”

FP doesn’t tell him it’s okay, because it isn’t. He’s still pissed, but he figures he has two choices: stay, or leave Fred and go back home. He doesn’t want to do either, if he’s completely honest. But the idea of leaving Fred behind for a week on bad terms doesn’t sit right with him. 

“I love you,” Fred says, voice soft, when FP hasn’t spoken. “You know that, right?”

Fred’s eyes are so big and honest when FP looks at him. Something in his chest tightens. He wants to be able to push this under the rug, go back to a few minutes ago when everything was fine. Anger and betrayal are still trying to make a home in him, but he’s not ready to give in to them completely. He tries to look towards the future, the moments after these feelings pass. He can feel them now, but he won’t allow them to stay. Fred’s too important to him. 

He closes his eyes and breathes deep. Lets it out slow as he nods. “I love you, too,” he whispers before placing a chaste kiss to the corner of Fred’s mouth.

It’s all FP can give him right now. He doesn’t know if it’s enough, but it’ll have to be. Dejected, he slowly removes himself from Fred’s grip. 

Fred doesn’t say anything as FP walks away. Doesn’t say anything once they’re both back in the car. Doesn’t even make a move to turn on the radio the entire drive to his parents’ house, which FP is kind of grateful for. It makes for an awkward ride, sure, but he thinks if he had to listen about how Santa Claus was coming to town or Rudolph guiding a sleigh tonight he would’ve _actually_ thrown himself out the car, so. 

At least Fred can read a room. That’s gotta count for something.

The silence ends up doing him some good. He has time to mull things over in his head, to try and rationalize it. It’s still not _okay_ , what Fred did, but. FP gets it. On some weird level. Can empathize with the fact that fear makes you do crazy shit, scramble your brain all up. And he knows Fred isn’t like, an asshole, which helps. Just… a little clueless sometimes. He means well. Hell, it’s why FP loves him. That big heart of his. 

The Andrews’ house is just as picturesque as he’d imagined it would be as they pull up to the curb. A modest-sized two story yellow house in a quiet little neighborhood, all decked out in unlit Christmas lights and decorations across the snow-covered lawn. Particularly, there’s a manger scene set up that kind of makes FP’s skin itch. He does his best to brush the feeling off as he and Fred collect their bags from the back.

They step up onto the porch, but instead of knocking on the door or just letting himself inside, Fred stops short and sets his bag and armful of gifts for his family down. Turns to face FP with a sullen look on his face that has FP groaning _what the fuck else now?_ in his head. His emotions are on enough of a hairpin trigger as it is. 

“Look,” Fred starts, voice quiet like he doesn’t want anyone inside to know they’re there yet. “Before we go in you should know that my mom’s pretty chill, and if it were just her we were dealing with none of the last hour would’ve happened.”

It comes out in kind of a rush, like Fred’s been rehearsing this over and over the entire car ride over because he was too scared to say anything to FP sooner. 

It’s a nice enough sentiment, FP guesses. At least he’s not walking into a complete lion’s den. But he suspects that’s not all Fred has to say, so he nods at him to go on.

“My dad is-” Fred pauses. Seems to be choosing his words. Continues. “He’s not a _bad_ guy, okay? And I’m sure you’ll get along great.” He reaches out to touch FP’s elbow, and it’s not lost on FP that this is the first time they’ve touched since getting back into that car. 

FP looks down at Fred’s hand, feels the warmth of it through the layers of clothes between them. Wants Fred closer in spite of everything, but knows that’ll have to wait. He closes his eyes for a second, envisions the bigger picture, the light at the end of this godforsaken tunnel he’s somehow found himself in. Braces himself for the _but_ he knows Fred’s about to drop on him.

“But it’s just-”

And FP has to laugh. He does. Soft enough that it doesn’t interrupt Fred’s flow.

“He’s kind of uptight about a lot of things. So maybe don’t… mention you’re a recovering alcoholic who runs a bar?”

Fred’s wincing when FP looks up at him, like he _knows_ how fucked up he keeps making this.

FP laughs again, but this time it tastes so much more bitter in his mouth. “Any other secrets I should be remembering to keep? I mean, Jesus, Fred.”

Fred sighs. “Is it gonna be like this all week?”

“You did not just say that to me right now.”

Fred opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the front door suddenly swinging open. Fred’s mom, FP presumes by the family resemblance, is standing there all bright-eyed and chipper, completely oblivious to the scene she’s just walked into. 

“I thought I heard car doors slamming. What’re doing out here in the cold, Freddie?” She reaches up - Fred’s got a good six inches on her - to ruffle her son’s hair before pulling him into a hug. 

They part so Fred can pick up his belongings. FP follows him inside and is swiftly greeted with a hug of his own.

“Oh, and you must be FP! Fred’s told us so much about you!”

“Is that so?” FP says, feigning pleasant as he locks eyes with Fred over his mother’s shoulder. 

“Freddie talks about you so much I feel like I already know you.” She smiles, and immediately FP sees where Fred gets his from. She’s a joyous little thing, and FP’s willing to place money on the fact that it’s she who Fred inherited his particular Mayberry view on life from. It’s charming. He’s charmed. Finds it hard to stay angry with her around. He’s just the met the woman, but already he’s struck by some strong desire to not upset her.

“Well, I hope I don’t disappoint, ma’am.” He sends her a kind smile in return, giving a quick glance over to Fred in the process.

“Are you boys hungry? I was just making brunch-”

“Actually, ma, can we get settled in first?” Fred interrupts. “Just kind of antsy from the drive.”

“Oh, sure!” Mrs. Andrews says. “I’ve got to finish up in the kitchen anyway. Just put the gifts under the tree, yeah?” She gives Fred’s cheek a pinch before turning around, only to stop in her tracks and turn around back to them again. “Oh! I almost forgot. Fred, let FP sleep in your old room and you can take the basement. We got it finished just in time.”

Fred sputters for a second, looking back and forth between his mother and his boyfriend. FP has nothing to say, perfectly content to sit back and let Fred handle this on his own.

“Why can’t FP and I just share my room?”

Mrs. Andrews laughs at that, going so far as to look over at FP like _Can you believe my son?_ And no. FP cannot. “I’m not gonna make two adult men share a bed, Fred.”

“Yeah, Fred. Use your head, man,” FP teases before sharing a look with Mrs. Andrews that has them both chuckling.

“Well, at least you and my mom are getting along,” Fred whispers to FP once they’re left alone, his mother heading back to the kitchen.

“That’s because she doesn’t know I’m getting plowed by her son every night.”

“Shh!” Fred’s eyes dart around to make sure his mother is long gone. FP throws his hands up in front of him and steps backwards into the living room. 

He busies himself with looking at all the family pictures hung up while Fred situates the gifts under the tree. There’s a few he’s seen before; Fred’s high school graduation photo, a picture from when he was best man at his brother’s wedding making a toast, a family portrait from his younger days that he keeps a copy of in a frame at his desk at home. 

There’s more FP hasn’t seen. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews’ wedding portrait, family vacations, a myriad of Fred’s older brother Oscar’s graduation photos from high school, college, medical school… _Jesus. How many graduation photos does one person need?_ There’s a lot of Oscar, actually. Wedding, in his office, in scrubs, with his wife and daughter… 

FP’s starting to wonder if favoritism is at play. Which may be shitty. He knows parents aren’t _supposed_ to play favorites, and luckily he’s an only child so he’s never had to experience that (though that never really seemed to stop his father from not choosing him anyway), but. He thinks parents play favorites anyway. Even if they don’t realize they’re doing it. Which, again. Shitty. But ain’t that life sometimes.

“Are dad and Oscar home?” Fred’s calling out to his mom, pulling FP from his thoughts. 

“Dad’s running a few errands!” Mrs. Andrews shouts back. “He should be back soon. Ozzy’s in surgery. He and the girls are gonna come down tonight.”

“God bless Oscar Andrews,” Fred mutters sarcastically under his breath. FP doesn’t think he was meant to hear, but he does all the same.

There’s a history there that FP doesn’t know all the details to, but he knows enough. Fred never has anything too scathing to say about his older brother, but his tone when speaking about him always lets FP know there’s some underlying resentment there, even if Fred won’t admit it. Seeing all the family photos lined up with Oscar front and center, FP’s starting to see the full picture. 

“C’mon,” Fred says once he’s all done putting the gifts away. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

There’s more photos lined up on the wall along the stairs. Oscar and his wife. Oscar and his wife and daughter. Fred and… some mystery redhead. His ex, if FP has to guess. He’s never seen her before, but it’s not hard to put the puzzle together when he’s looking at them standing in the middle of a park, bent over laughing with Fred wrapping his arms around her from behind. 

They look happy. No trace of the impending break up. FP can’t help but think about the last picture he and Fred took together. Wonders if there’s gonna be some future person looking at it thinking the same thing. 

“I keep telling them to take that down…” Fred’s suddenly next to FP, staring at the object that’s taken up his attention. “Mom’s just forgetful.”

He looks over to FP all remorseful. FP doesn’t know who to be mad at. Feels too tired to even muster up the strength to bother. Fred reaches out to squeeze his hand, and FP lets him. 

“It’s fine.” FP shrugs. He’s not gonna throw a tantrum about it. Won’t do him any good.

He keeps letting Fred hold his hand and lead him up another flight of stairs, up to the attic that was converted into a bedroom when Fred was in middle school because he put up a big fuss about needing space and wanting to feel like an adult (which was the story he gave his parents. He confessed to FP the real reason was the attic window was easier to sneak in and out of than his old bedroom window, and FP got a kick out of imagining Fred being some cute wannabe rebel).

The bedroom, FP finds out as soon as he steps inside, is like a time capsule. Looks exactly like what Fred must’ve had it like back in high school. He lets out a long whistle as he takes in all the posters. 

He honestly doesn’t know what he was expecting. There’s a couple of baseball posters that seem pretty standard, but the rest of the pictures covering every square inch of the walls FP can only describe as a clusterfuck. George Michael, Brad Pitt, _Dolly Parton_ , which FP makes a note to ask about later. There’s a Joan Jett poster tacked up in a corner that FP thinks Gladys would get a kick out of. A few pictures of Kurt Cobain catch FP’s attention, too, but what really steals the show are the hoards of Springsteen posters and magazine cut-outs tacked up everywhere (including one on the ceiling right about the bed and yeah. No. FP’s not sleeping like that).

“Are you sure your parents don’t know you’re gay?” he asks, setting his bag down on the bed before taking a seat next to it, arms stretched out behind him as he eyes up at the ceiling. 

“You’re so funny.”

There’s a reserved humor to Fred’s voice, like he isn’t sure if they’re allowed to be playful, if they’re still in a fight. He’s keeping his distance. FP sits up and sees the few feet of space Fred’s keeping between them like some sort of safeguard. 

He decides he doesn’t like it. Makes a decision then and there that he’s not going to let his anger rule him. Doesn’t mean he’s willing to forget, entirely, but. He’s choosing to forgive.

“I want to call a truce.” FP reaches his hand out, an extending of the proverbial olive branch. 

Fred looks surprised, eyes wide and shining as he stares at the hand, then back to FP. It’s a split second before he’s moving forward, landing in FP’s lap before FP can even blink. His arms wind behind FP’s neck as he buries his face in the crook where it meets FP’s shoulder. 

FP’s arms go tight around Fred’s waist, keeping him close. There’s a heat rising up in his chest as he takes a shaky breath, nuzzles his nose in Fred’s hair. He feels safe again, engulfed in Fred’s warmth, that grounding weight on top of him.

“I hate fighting with you,” Fred whispers, breath leaving goosebumps on FP’s skin.

“Me, too.” His thumb slips under Fred’s sweater, rubs soft circles on the skin of his lower back. 

“It’s gonna suck being away from you for a week.”

FP can’t help but laugh. “I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

FP can hear the pout in Fred’s voice. He smiles, bittersweetly, to himself. Fred’s right. They’ve become so entangled in each other that not being able to kiss or hold hands or _share a damn bed_ for the time being _is_ gonna suck. FP doesn’t know when he let himself get so dependent on those kinds of things. (It’s a lie. He knows exactly when.)

“Yeah. I do.” FP’s thumb is still rubbing across Fred’s skin as the admission sits heavy in the air. “‘S gonna suck even worse having to sleep alone in your creepy ass bedroom…”

Fred jolts back, still seated in FP’s lap, but with a notable space between them now. “Shut up!” He shoves FP’s shoulder, earning him a laugh in return. “My bedroom’s not creepy!”

“It’s a little creepy, babe.”

“Oh, whatever. You and your weird metal bands were probably worse.”

And, okay. _Rude_. Maybe Fred has a point, but still. There’s a difference between sleeping in your own room with the posters you yourself put up, and sleeping in a strange bed with a million eyes on you. Doesn’t even compare.

“You can take the basement if you want…” Fred offers, sounding much less offended.

“Oh hell no. Basement’s way creepier. I’ll take my chances up here.”

Fred shoves him again, but this time FP retaliates by grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It’s easy for him to get lost in it, forget where they are. Fred’s hands come up to cup FP’s jaw, and he stretches up on his knees just enough that he has to tilt FP’s head back to keep kissing him. A welcomed role reversal considering FP’s the one with the height advantage between the two. 

“Boys! Food’s ready!” Mrs. Andrews’ voice calls from two floors below. 

FP pulls away at the sound of her voice, suddenly fully aware of the fact he’s got her son in his lap with the door wide open. “Shit. We gotta be more careful.”

Fred laughs, going in for another kiss. “It’s fine. She never comes up here.”

FP’s not really sure he wants to just take Fred’s word on that. Seems too risky. Fred doesn’t seem that bothered, though, as he seals their lips again.

“Fred! Food’s getting cold!” A voice that’s decidedly not Mrs. Andrews’ yells. 

With wide eyes, Fred whips his head around to the door, mutters a _Shit._ under his breath. FP doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend’s body has suddenly gone tense under his hands. Apparently he _does_ have a limit.

“Guess my dad’s home.” 

They hadn’t even heard him come in. Doors are definitely gonna have to be closed and locked if Fred plans on sneaking a make-out in again. 

Fred removes himself from FP’s lap, and FP already misses him. Misses the closeness he’s grown so accustomed to and will have to do without. Even though it’s only for a few days… it’s a few days too many. 

Fred’s on him again as soon as FP stands up. A rushed little kiss to his lips. “Just wanted one more for the road.” He smiles.

“Fred!” 

With a groan, Fred pulls away at the sound of his father’s yelling. “Oh my _God_.”

It’s kind of cute, FP thinks. The little annoyed look Fred has on his face like he’s a kid again with his parents’ annoying him. The situation only heightened by the fact they’re standing in his childhood bedroom. It’s like FP’s getting a firsthand glimpse into Fred’s past.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Fred says, clearly not sharing FP’s amusement. 

FP laughs, hands up in the air. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t like what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Fred scoffs. “Yes. I do.”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy, you know that?”

“Shut up.” Fred shoves him, only to step back into his space and start fixing him up. He smooths down FP’s sweater, slicks his hair back into something presentable so he doesn’t look like they were up to anything, FP presumes. FP just stands by and lets him, watches on with an amused smirk. “Promise to be on your best behavior, alright?”

It’s a little ironic considering Fred was the one trying to play tonsil hockey, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that has FP stopping himself from making any quips. 

For as much as it’s important to FP that he make a good impression on Fred’s family for reasons unbeknownst to Fred, it’s clearly important to Fred, too. Even given the circumstances. And that somehow means more to FP than anything else. Like Fred’s planning for their future, too. 

FP crosses his heart. “I promise.”

Fred nods once. “Okay. Good.” Takes a deep breath. Looks to the door that leads downstairs, looks back to FP. “Well, guess it’s showtime then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sure was an emotional journey huh? tell me all about it in the comments ;)

**Author's Note:**

> leave comments and kudos otherwise santa skips your house this year


End file.
